The Temporary Bride
by doctorHolmestuck
Summary: Set after "The Interview", Sherlock explains why he needs Eleanor. Contains some fairly mature themes as this story contains gangs, trophy wives and things.
1. Chapter 1

"Uh… What?"

"I need someone who can pass as female, and you're the best thing I've got."

"I'm not sure whether to take this as an insult or be excited by the fact that you want me to join you on a case."

"Probably the later."

Sherlock Holmes sprang up from where he was sitting on her esky and grabbed her. He then swept the two of them into the bedroom.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, bedroom? What are we doing in my bedroom?"

"We need to get changed."

Eleanor looked at Sherlock with an expression that closely resembled the "seriously" meme face.

"No."

"Now, I think you should get into-wait, no?"

"Sherlock, I have just come back to Australia from a fourteen hour flight. I haven't had a shower, I haven't brushed my hair, I haven't slept, and I feel like crap. Whatever it is can wait until I've had a shower."

"But…"

Eleanor fixed Sherlock with a stern look. He raised his hand to try and talk back. He with-held this action when Eleanor gave him a stare that could bring a war-hardened soldier to their knees.

"I'm. Going. Home. To. Have. A. Shower. Now."

Instantly, Eleanor turned and stalked out of the room and grabbed her luggage. She threw open the door with more force than really necessary.

* * *

Twenty minutes after she got home slipped the towel around her body and dried herself clean. It probably wasn't good for the environment to have a fifteen minute shower, but what the heck. With the week she had, she thought that she deserved a little me-time.

She strolled out into the lounge room and went to play some music from her laptop really loudly so that she could leave it charging. However, she didn't get to her laptop.

"Hey, I need-"

"AHH! SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL, YOU DO NOT BREAK INTO MY HOUSE WHEN I'M ONLY WEARING A TOWEL!"

"But-"

"NO BUTS, OUT! NOW! GO, GO, GO!" she screamed at Sherlock who bolted for the door when she picked up random bits of detritus that was laying on the table next to her.

When Sherlock shut the door behind him, Eleanor sprinted to her room, shut the curtains, and locked her door. Then she, hurriedly, dried and dressed herself. Once she was finished she carefully unlocked the door and walked into the lounge room again.

"Now may I talk to you?"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! You don't go around breaking into girl's houses!"

"But the case-"

"-can wait until you apologise for breaking into my house and seeing me in a towel."

She glared at Sherlock until he mumbled an apology.

"Now about the case…"

She looked at Sherlock quizzically.

"What about it?"

"I need your help."

"What do you need?"

"I need you to be my trophy wife."

"WHAT!"


	2. Chapter 2

"I need you to be my trophy wife."

"What do you mean _'trophy wife'_?"

"A trophy wife is-"

"I know what a trophy wife is Sherlock! Why me, I'm not exactly trophy wife material, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, come on, a little dressing up, some make-up, breast implants, you'll do fine."

"Implants? No. No way. Count me out. I'm not getting implants just for a case."

"Eleanor, be reasonable."

"Sherlock, you are attempting to order a sixteen year old girl into purchasing size H boobs just for the sake of one case."

"Well if you're that unenthusiastic you can use temporary ones... and it doesn't have to be H... Double D is ample..."

"One, you're a dick and two, why do you need a trophy wife anyway?"

"I'm investigating a string of gang and mafia groups with some pretty good links to Moriarty and his henchmen, I intend to infiltrate them, but I need to look believable. Trust me, if these were normal circumstances and I was back at 221B with John, I'd be strapping the implants on, myself."

The look that Eleanor gave Sherlock was somewhere between a "seriously" and a "what the f***". Sherlock, however, continued on with his monologue.

"But since I don't have John here, I need someone to be either a boy or a girl. I trust you, so you'll be fine. Now, I saw this little red dress earlier that would be perfect for you..."

Sherlock had walked over to a little bag he had placed in the corner during that final sentence. He reached inside and pulled out a small, tight-fitting, long v-necked, red...

_Shirt is the most appropriate term given its length, but I think it's supposed to be a dress. Oh gods, I have to wear that thing in public?_

"I'm not wearing that."

"Okay then, I'll wear it. But I'll have to teach you what to say when you encounter different bosses."

The sudden thought of Sherlock Holmes wearing that _thing_ caused Eleanor to mentally recoil in horror. There was absolutely no way Sherlock would be able to cover everything downstairs with that dress, let alone the fact that he would need some serious shirt stuffing to get away with it...

_Why am I even thinking like this?_

"Sherlock, I'll wear that damned 'dress', I do not want to think about how you would look wearing it ever again."

Sherlock just shrugged and threw the dress to her.

"Put that on while I get the make-up and hair products."

"You're going to do my make-up and hair?"

"Your point?"

"If you make me look like a clown or a male 80's rock singer I will murder you in your sleep."

"I won't, I promise."

Sherlock made a little motion of making a cross over his heart at that comment. Eleanor just sighed and went to her room to change.

* * *

She came back out of her room 5 minutes later, glad she had shaved all over in her shower from before. The dress didn't leave a lot to the imagination.

"Sherlock, are you trying to be a paedophile?"

"Huh?" Sherlock didn't look away from the mirror which he was adjusting his bow-tie in. He looked pretty good in a suit, even though the purple with black shirt underneath made him look like a pimp.

_If he's a pimp, does that mean I'm his...? I'm going to murder that man in his sleep._

"Sherlock, I don't have any shoes that match this dress, nor do I have any make-up that works with my complexion."

Sherlock turned away from the mirror and inspected Eleanor for a moment, and then he reached into his bag and pulled out a pair 9 inch red high-heels (of the same shade as the dress) with straps that tied up all the way to her knees. Eleanor looked at the shoes aghast.

"How am I supposed to walk in those?"

"I think you are more supposed to drape yourself over me whenever I walk anywhere."

"If we get caught by the cops, you are so getting pulled up on charges of paedophilia."

Sherlock just laughed as he threw her the shoes.

"Me? Get caught by the police without intending to? Now you're being ridiculous."

She rolled her eyes as she tied up the shoes. She really hoped she wouldn't have to get out of them fast.

When she had finished with the shoes Sherlock leapt over to her and inspected her face and hair all over. Then he began to apply her make-up and style her hair.

After five minutes Eleanor had a more professional look than a movie star.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock," she breathed, gaping at herself in the mirror.

"Does it look okay?" he asked, almost insecure about the job he had done.

"It's brilliant, how can you possibly be so good at this?"

"I've had experience..."

Eleanor snapped her head around to look at Sherlock.

"Do I _really_ want to know about that?"

"Probably not. It didn't involve any sexual activity though."

She was about to face palm, but reconsidered it when she realised she might smudge her make-up.

_Aw hell, I'm becoming normal. What is this mockery?_

"You ready Eleanor?"

"Uh, how are we getting to... wherever it is we are going? I don't think they would like us rocking up in a taxi."

"Don't worry, I have it sorted."

Sherlock stood and offered his arm out to Eleanor who took it and began to take wobbly steps forwards. By the time they had left the house, she could almost walk normally in the shoes.

When she noticed the car she almost fell over.

But if you saw a Rolls Royce parked in the front of your house, you probably would too.


	3. Chapter 3

Eleanor was leaning heavily on Sherlock as he helped her get back on her feet.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"A Rolls Royce is neither discrete, nor is it common in Australia. Not once do I remember there being a Rolls Royce in Australia that wasn't one of the royals when they came over."

"What's your point?"

She looked at Sherlock. He wasn't great with emotions, but he got the impression that she was a bit ticked off at the moment.

"Get something more normal, Sherlock. No-one has a Rolls, it's obviously fake. It'll blow our cover the moment we turn up."

"Oh... Then what is 'more normal'?"

"It needs something fancy as hell, but still needs to be believable... hmmm... how about a... Mercedes Benz AMG C63, those are pretty fancy..."

"That's specific, how did you know-"

"Ex-partner."

"That's a bit non-gender specific..."

She looked at Sherlock with a poker-face.

"That's part of the point, Sherlock. When someone is being non-gender specific it means they don't want to talk about it."

"Does that mean you don't want to talk about it?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Okay, well, I'll just go make a call and get a new car sent over then, shall I?"

"And how am I meant to stand?"

"You'll learn."

And with that Sherlock slid out of her grasp and went to go make the phone call. Eleanor fell over immediately. She decided to wait on the floor until Sherlock was finished.

When he was _finally_ done she made a quick little coughing noise. He looked at her for a moment, puzzled. Then he realised what she meant and reached down to help her up.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, a silver Mercedes Benz AMG C63 slammed around the corner and stopped in front of the two.

"Get in," Sherlock stated as the doors popped open.

The two of them slid into the backseat. Once they were buckled in the car sped off.

"Okay, here's the run-down; your name is Hayley Dukeford, you've been my wife for eighteen months, you're nineteen years old, you're a beauty pageant winner in Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, Perth, California, and London. We met in London after I rigged a beauty pageant to make you lose; I thought you were the perfect accessory so I married you. You are obedient; you'll follow any command without question. You are an overdramatic bride, playing up every opportunity for public displays of affection. When you were working the beauty pageant scene, some of your rivals spread rumours that you were a prostitute and that was the reason you kept winning-"

"What's your name and occupation, Sherlock?"

"My name is Lachlan Dukeford, I'm a smuggler and I gather information for interested parties, whoever they might be. You use the nick-name 'Locky' for me, if anyone asks you why just say it is a secret, but you can hint that it involves locks or whatever else you can think of-"

"Any other bits of information they might try to glean off me?"

"Make it up as you go along, but try to keep it believable, okay?"

"Got it. Hey, can I get something to eat, I haven't had anything since the plane."

"There should be snacks at the party."

"I mean actual food, Sherlock. I have no idea if they put anything in that party food. Knowing about gangsters and criminals, they could have only set this up so they could try and kill each other. Therefore, get me something to eat," Eleanor gave Sherlock a stern look at the final sentence.

Sherlock just looked at her.

"Fine, but when we stop you have to put in the fake boobs."

"One, I hate you, and two, fine."

They pulled up to a restaurant that had take-away and Sherlock went to go make the order while Eleanor stuffed her shirt... dress. She did remember to ask the driver to step out of the car while she stuffed herself.

Sherlock came back to the car with a small bag about seven minutes later.

"Happy now?"

Eleanor grabbed the bag, opened it and started to woof down the food.

"Yes," she managed to say after a couple of mouthfuls.


	4. Chapter 4

The car pulled up to the club building about ten minutes after Eleanor finished eating.

_Hindley Street? Of course..._

"Sherlock... Locky, is this party really on Hindley Street? Do you know what goes on here?"

"I know this isn't exactly the safest place in Adelaide, but-"

"Sh-Locky, a sixteen...nineteen year old girl in this outfit on Hindley street? Do you want me to get raped? Or worse?"

"You'll be fine as long as you stay inside the club with all the murderers, terrorists, gangsters, and mercenaries."

"You inspire such confidence, dear," Eleanor sneered.

Sherlock threw open the door with such confidence that the door almost quaked with fear, but that would be impossible since car-doors have no feelings..._much like Sherlock_, she mused. Quickly, she followed him out of the car, trying to maintain the same level of confidence as him.

Eleanor draped herself on Sherlock's arm as they walked up the stairs and into the club.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the smell. The club reeked; it was full of cigarette, pot, and incense smoke. It made her head spin; fortunately, this wasn't the first time she had to spend time in a room filled with all these things, so she was fairly immune. Sherlock, however, wasn't coping as well with the incense.

"Need to borrow my inhaler?" she whispered to Sherlock.

"No, I'll be fine," he stated, matter-of-factly.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, now stop whispering. You'll blow the disguise."

"Locky, honey, you can order me however you want," Eleanor said, seductively.

Sherlock looked at her with a '_what?'_ look, and then he saw what she did. There was a man standing fairly near them. Sherlock quickly filled in the look by pulling Eleanor close, their faces touching, but not quite kissing. The man walked away at the two's "embrace".

Another man, older looking, came up to them and began to cough loudly. Sherlock one hand to cover the side of their faces, the other hand he used to give the man a _'just a sec'_ motion.

The man just tapped his wrist in response. Sherlock pulled himself away, _he's quite the actor... and a bit too good at this... what the heck has he been doing?_

"What?" Sherlock demanded, slightly annoyed.

He was good at this.

"Name?"

"Lachlan Dukeford."

"The girl?"

"My wife."

"Who is?"

"Great in bed," Eleanor chuckled, gently running a finger down Sherlock's cheek.

"Mr and Mrs Dukeford, would you please refrain from openly having intercourse in the club."

"Aww, spoil-sport," Eleanor pouted.

"Where's everyone else?" Sherlock said, as he looked around impatiently.

_He's really good at this..._

"This way," the man turned and started to walk away. Sherlock and Eleanor followed, with Eleanor still draped over Sherlock's arm.


	5. Chapter 5

People were strewn over lounge chairs and on bean-bags, and there bongs lying, unused, on the ground at various intervals. Some people had drinks in their hands, others had bits of food, others had bits of other people in..."different" positions. Eleanor began to feel very uncomfortable.

_Why am I doing this?_

She noticed waiters quietly walking in amongst the various people, offering them drinks and narcotics.

_I swear most of this stuff is illegal; then again, that's probably the point. When this is all over, I'm going to kill Sherlock for this._

Sherlock found them an empty spot on a chair and they sat down. Sherlock pulled her to him and began the cradle her rear.

No-one was talking. Eleanor didn't like this, it was all wrong; people talked, they communicated, even when high. _This is very, very wrong._

Then a chorus began to roll through the crowd. Everyone's voices suddenly adding to the melody, if you could call it a melody. Louder and louder, the voices got until everyone was joining in, even Sherlock. Eleanor didn't know the words so she just bluffed her way through.

"'_Till the cities rot and crumple,_

'_Till the world is ours to hold,_

'_Till our enemies start to fumble,_

'_Till then we shall all be bold,_

"_For we are the true keepers,_

_The true rulers of this world,_

_We are the real seekers,_

_Saviours of the righteous world,_

"_Let not our sins be forgiven,_

_For they are not truly sins."_

The chant ended and everyone lay back. Mild chatter began to reverberate around the room.

_I really don't like this..._

Two men came over and plonked themselves down in from of Sherlock and Eleanor. The two were cuddled together much like Sherlock and Eleanor were. A tall man with sandy-blonde hair began to speak in an incredibly annoying Southern American Drawl.

"Howdy there, what're you and yur little ladeh runnin'?"

"Information, to those who are interested," Sherlock put in lazily, moving his arm around Eleanor's waist.

_Sherlock, if you try anything I'm going to kick you so hard in the balls you'll fall out the window of this building..._

The other man; smaller, with black hair, a fluffy moustache and a Russian accent began to speak.

"What sort of information?"

"Depends on what you want to know..." Sherlock retorted, mysteriously.

"Ya sound Britesh there, what ya got on thar gov'ment?"

_Please, someone kill it before it breeds..._

"I know a bit about the British government. What sort of things are you willing to pay for?"

The two men smiled and went in for kiss with each other.

_Okay then, I guess they aren't going to breed..._

The Russian pulled away from the American with a smile, "what's the average rate?"

"Depends on the economy."

"Ah'll give ya fahve mill."

"In American dollars? Pfft, no."

"Euros?" the Russian enquired.

"With the union breakdown, please."

"Locky, Honey, there's more than money in this world," Eleanor purred.

"Indeed there is, love," Sherlock murmured, moving his hand to just underneath her breast.

_If he moves that hand up... I don't care about the disguise, I'm punching him in the face. Maybe even break his nose...That _would_ be funny..._

"Whell then, mist'r. Name yur prahce."

"Trade; an answer for an answer. You want to know about the British Government, you tell me something good for me to know."

The American and the Russian look at each other and seem to formulate a plan via telepathy. They both turn to look at Sherlock, grinning like a pair of mad-men. Which, given where they were, they most likely were mad.

"Who's your biggest rival?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock grinned.

"We've got some stuff on Moriarty, but this is choice information. Not really for _extra_ ears, if you understand me..."

Sherlock looked down at Eleanor.

"Aww, do the big boys want me to go?" Eleanor pouted.

"Sorry, love, but we big boys need to talk."

"Then I'll just have to see you later, _Big Boy_," Eleanor slid out of his grasp and brushed her face past his. She stopped her lips by his ear and whispered to him, "touch my boobs and I kick you so hard in the nuts you'll go flying out the window, got it?"

Sherlock brushed his lips next to her ear and whispered, "just don't blow our cover, okay?"

Eleanor pulled back and smiled maliciously, "love you too." Then, with a wink and an air kiss she turned and went exploring.


	6. Chapter 6

She had to walk very carefully in order to not hit any people, bongs, or to fall over in her shoes.

_Maybe I should impale him with the heels of these bloody things. Still, I'm impressed I haven't broken any of my bones yet... That's definitely a bonus..._

Eleanor looked up and saw something that chilled her to the bone.

There was a girl standing at the buffet, stuffing her face. There were two men standing near her, one man had his arm around her waist, the other leaned against the table. She knew who they were.

_Oh shit..._

Quickly, Eleanor turned and started walking very quickly back to Sherlock. She noticed that the two men had already left, Sherlock looked quite happy with the information he had gleaned.

"We need to go. Now," she ordered.

"Quiet, you'll ruin the disguise."

"Sherlock, we are going. Now. No buts. Move."

Eleanor reached forwards and was about to pull Sherlock up into a standing position so they could leave, but Sherlock pulled her down to him and held her incredibly close.

"Sh-" she tried to say.

"Quiet," Sherlock cut her off.

He started to kiss her, long and deep. She was about to recoil in horror at this action when she heard their voices.

"Are we interrupting anything?" it was the girl who was stuffing her face.

It was Neve.

_Shit!_

She casually pulled herself away from Sherlock.

"Only a little something," she stared at Neve with a look of utter contempt.

Neve glared right back at her.

"Daddy, Seb, let's go," Neve said, annoyed.

"Wait Neve, don't be so hasty, we should at least talk to these people before we leave," it was her dad.

_Oh gods, it's Moriarty. _The_ Jim Moriarty. Crap!_

"Yeah, come on Neve, don't be such a party-pooper," the blonde haired one holding her waist, most likely Sebastian Moran, said.

"Okay, we've talked. Now let's go," Neve started trying to drag Sebastian and Jim away.

"Neve, what's wrong?" Jim asked her.

"Neve what's wrong," Eleanor mimicked in a voice that was completely wrong for Jim Moriarty.

_Wait. I've just ticked off the Moriarty's. What the hell am I doing? They're going to kill me. Crap!_

"What did you say to me, bitch?" Neve said, breaking out of Sebastian's grip.

"Neve, not now..." Sebastian pleaded.

"Me? I don't remember saying anything?" Eleanor battered her eyelashes, faking innocence.

"I think you need to get your memory checked," Neve said getting right into Eleanor's face.

"I think you need to back off, slut," Eleanor said, her face almost touching Neve's.

All the surrounding men started to back off, while the rest of the patrons started to form a circle, eager for a fight.

Neve put her lips right by Eleanor's ear and whispered to her, "Ellie, don't do this. Not now, no-one is ready for an open war."

Eleanor stepped back from Neve, "You want a go, bitch?" she called out to the room at large.

"Bring it, whore."

"Fine."

Eleanor charged at Neve, hooking her arm around the waist and throwing her to the ground. Neve sent a fist out and clocked Eleanor on the cheekbone. Eleanor fell back, and quickly undid the top part of the straps on her shoes.

Neve lunged at Eleanor. Quickly, Eleanor kicked out at Neve, catching her square in the stomach. Neve recoiled, pulling off Eleanor's show in the process. Neve regained her composure and threw the shoe back at Eleanor, heel first. Eleanor rolled to the side, and kicked her other heel off as she stood up.

The two girls rushed at each other, the crowd began shouting, except for three people. Sherlock, Jim, and Sebastian all looked on at the fight without saying a word. They did nothing to stop it.

Eleanor and Neve were throwing punches, slaps, and were pulling hair every chance they got. However, the crowd didn't hear the two's conversation as they fought;

"Ellie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing about you Neve?"

"Dad makes most of his business deals at parties like this. Don't embarrass us."

"Yeah? Well I'm here with a friend."

"What? The guy you were snogging?"

"You really have become British, haven't you?"

"Well, when you live there for six years with only British people to talk to, you start to pick up an accent."

"Neve, promise me something, and I mean honestly."

"What do you need, Ellie?"

"Don't follow me after this. Don't track me after this. Don't stalk, trail, keep tabs on, or anything else like that after this. Do any of them even know that we know each other?"

"Dad and Seb didn't recognise you... I did."

"Well, it's kind of obvious that you did."

"Good idea starting a fight, by the way. Perfect cover for a friendly chat."

"I thought so. Now promise."

"Okay. I promise none of our people will come after you. You'll be safe. Hell, we'll even protect you from... people who aren't as pleasant as we are."

"Thank-you, I won't him about your family either."

"You're date?"

"Kind-of."

"Guy troubles?"

"In a sense."

"We really should find a good time to talk about our lives. We can't play out a fight for an entire catch-up conversation."

"That's a good point. You should call me sometime. I already assume you have my phone number."

"Of course I do. You're my friend, Ellie. You were a sister to me; you don't just go back on a person like that."

"Thanks Neve. I'll take my partner here and leave, okay?"

"Sounds good. I'll keep dad and Seb here to give you time."

"It was good to see you Neve."

"It was good to see you too Ellie."

"Would you care to do the finishing move, or shall I?"

"You started it, you finish it."

"Are you sure? It might ruin your image."

"Good point. Sorry about this Ellie."

"It's okay, just don't make it un-recoverable."

"Okay, I won't. Bye."

"Bye."

Neve slapped Eleanor. She went with the energy, and added a bit of her own to add effect. She spun around and landed with a thud beside Sherlock. He reached down and picked her up, gently taking her away from the fighting ring.

Neve just sat on the floor, panting at the effort.

The crowd began to disperse; the entertainment was over, now back to business. Sebastian reached down to help Neve up.

"What the hell was that about?" Jim demanded of Neve.

"That girl's a bitch," Neve replied with a sneer.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Seb asked her, checking over her to make sure she wasn't badly hurt.

"I'm fine Seb. That bitch could never hurt me. I'm hungry, let's go back to that buffet," Neve passed off and began walking towards the buffet. She wasn't really hungry, but she had to keep them here, at least for a little while.

Ellie was her enemy, but right here, right now... It almost felt like they were equals...

_What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a Moriarty. I stopped being a Winchester a long time ago..._


	7. Chapter 7

"Eleanor Winchester, what the hell was that?"

"That was me saving our skins, Sherlock," Eleanor said quickly, dragging Sherlock into the street and down the road.

Sherlock dragged her to a halt, "wait, what do you mean 'saving our skins'? What was the big danger to us in there?"

Eleanor looked at Sherlock and remembered the promise she and Neve had just made. Neve was her enemy, but something inside of Eleanor made her want to trust Neve, just a little.

_Damn it Eleanor, she's a Moriarty, not a Winchester. She stopped being a Winchester a long time ago. Stop thinking like this..._

"There was this... girl I know there..."

"What do you mean 'girl I know', is she a threat? Did she try to kill you?"

Eleanor looked at Sherlock, her mind racing.

_How much can I tell? How much do I tell? Crap, I can never think straight when I'm tired..._

"She... she did worse..."

"How much worse? Eleanor, who is she?"

"Somebody that I used to know, okay? Enough questions. I'm going home," with that Eleanor turned and sprinted down the road towards the railway station.

* * *

She had been staying at home for three days now and Sherlock hadn't seen her once. Eleanor was starting to wonder if Sherlock was finally going to leave her alone, although she was slightly disappointed that she wouldn't get to explain herself.

Eleanor was just finishing up marking her books for school; it would be starting for the year in a week. The January sun was still warm and Eleanor thought about going down to the beach with some friends.

_I'm sure Avery would like a chance to check out some beach boys, it might get her mind off Sherlock. I swear, if I had known how enthralled she was going to be with Sherlock I would have asked someone else to rescue her..._

Waking up her computer, Eleanor went on Facebook and sent a request out to some of her friends for a beach party in an hour.

Eleanor, Avery, Rain, Alexandra, Cyprus, and Greg were all sitting under a big gazebo set up on the soft sand. Eleanor began to smooth out the paper of their D'&D' map and character sheets while Greg got out everyone's dice.

Eleanor lay down on her stomach with a smile on her face, mini-skirt laying on her thighs and lose, open shirt spread over the sand. She began the recite her favourite lines;

"When last we saw our heroes..."

"Arlandria was talking to the Kitchen Lady, Stitches was flailing on the floor and holding onto Mr. Grin's leg, Kyros was stumbling over the river of guards still wearing rags because his clothes were eaten by a gelatinous cube, Grizwald had just entered through the door which lead to the flip-out in the first place, Lord Dinkleberg was sitting on the steps with his head in his hands, and Neve was sneaking in through the window," Alexandra said before Eleanor could finish.

Eleanor glared at her friend, and then she smiled.

"That's right, now how is everyone going to deal with this chaos? Arlandria, how about you start this round."

"Okay, I'm talking with the Kitchen Lady and asking for her help in stemming the madness in the entrance hall."

"Roll."

"D20?"

"It's a charisma check, of course it's a D20."

Alexandra picked up her translucent green D20 and rolled it over the sand.

"Ten!"

"Your pleading with the Kitchen Lady was successful. _'Don't worry dear, I'll help you stop all these shenanigans upstairs'_, the Kitchen Lady then reaches for her spiked rolling pin and proceeds to lead the way out into to entrance hall. It's going to take the two of you some time to get back, so let's see what Stitches is doing. Stitches, are you still flailing on the floor with Mr. Grins' leg?"

"Shit, it's my turn? Fuck, uh... Yeah... I want to throw the leg at the dwarf guy," said Rain, spaced out.

"Roll for throw."

Rain picked up her jet black D20 and rolled it over the map.

"Twenty! Fuck yeah!"

"Grizwald, make a saving throw against the... *sigh* skeletal leg being thrown at you."

Greg went to pick up his deep blue D20, but he stopped when he saw the shadow which was advancing on their gazebo.

"Who's that?" Greg called out to the stranger approaching the group.

"I need to speak with Eleanor Winchester," she knew that voice, that British voice.

"Bloody hell," Eleanor muttered as she stood up and buttoned up her shirt. Quickly, she hurried over to where the man was standing.

"Eleanor, we need to talk about what happened three days ago. I have to know-" he began.

"Hey Ellie, did you finally have sex with somebody?" Rain cut the man off.

Eleanor grimaced at her friends' lack of tact.

"Rain, please shut the hell up," Eleanor said back quietly.

"Shit, she's talking all fancy like, batten down the hatches!" quipped Alexandra.

"Guys, you really need to shut up now," Eleanor said turning back to look at her friends.

"Wait... I know that guy... You're the one who rescued me!" Avery exclaimed, standing up and walking over to the man.

"Sherlock, I think we should go talk in private..." Eleanor began.

"I think that might be a good idea," Sherlock said and started to walk away.

Eleanor was about to follow Sherlock on his path away from the group when Avery grabbed her arm and whispered something to her; "put in a good word for me, hey? If you know him that well I might actually get a chance with him..."

Avery pulled back and winked at Eleanor before running back to the shade of the gazebo. Eleanor just rolled her eyes and went to follow Sherlock.

* * *

"Who was that girl you fought with?" Sherlock queried.

"She's this girl that I used to be friends with, but 'went to the dark side', now she's a spiteful bitch who can't keep a boyfriend out of her pants," Eleanor said, distractedly.

"Eleanor... Ellie, that friend of yours, the one I rescued, what's wrong with her?"

"What do you mean Sherlock?"

"Well, she was acting strangely..."

"Oh... Wait, you don't know what was wrong with her?"

"There are certain things I don't really know about, this probably falls into one of those categories. Am I correct?"

"Yes Sherlock, you are correct. She likes you, and I do mean likes you, to the point where she might try to have children with you, given the chance."

"I assume there is a problem with that apart from the fact that I don't really know her and I don't feel anything in that respect towards anyone or anything."

"A bit of a problem, yes. Thirty-somethings aren't meant to have relationships with sixteen year olds, there's a rule about that. If I remember correctly it's 'half-your-age-plus-seven', therefore, by that logic, you shouldn't be with her, and... Wait, you _never_ feel anything in that regard to _anyone_? Ever?"

"No, never. I don't even know what love is... Eleanor, what is love?"

"Aside from a song?"

"Aside from that song."

"Well... love is a complex thing Sherlock. There are different types..."

"What do you mean?"

_Crap, why'd he have to ask me...?_

"Well, I guess the most common type would be 'platonic love'."

"Define each one as you say it."

_Shit..._

"Okay, uh... Platonic love is pretty much the kind of love between friends. It's the kind of love that everyone can have, and everyone, in some way, shape, or form, has."

"Like me and John?"

"Like you and John. Then there's 'cupboard love', which is the kid of love where you only love someone in order to get something from them. Like borrowing money off someone and you say you'll love them forever if they lend you this money; that's cupboard love."

"Like me and Molly?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure about that one. Then there's 'familial love', the love between family members, it also kind of incorporates a bit of loyalty into it. So it's sort of like you going to any lengths possible to protect and look after a certain family member."

_Wait... Do I still feel familial love for Neve?_

"That's not like me and Mycroft at all."

"In your opinion, Sherlock. The final form of love is 'love' love or 'true love' as some people would say. True love is the kind of love you get that is a little mix of a few different things. It's got some loyalty, although some people think that doesn't matter so much, uh... respect, and physical attraction. A good working relationship should contain aspects of each of those, loyalty, respect, and physical attraction."

"Is that how your friend Avery feels about me?"

"Highly likely."

"Interesting... I need to think about this... Eleanor, I'd like to work with you on cases in the future."

"Uh Sherlock... School starts up for the year in a week."

"Well that's good for all the students. Now I think I may have another case starting up soon..."

"Sherlock! I'm going to school."

"Really? But, what about the case?"

"I think my education is pretty important. You can still work on your own, can't you?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, but then he mumbled something.

"What was that Sherlock, I couldn't hear you."

"I like having someone watch my back now."

Eleanor was slightly shocked at this statement.

"Sherlock... If you ever do need my help, just call. Okay?"

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, and then he smiled.

"Okay."

* * *

"Rain, that was mean. You shouldn't talk to Eleanor like that, she's had a rough week," Cyrus reprimanded.

"Oh, come on Cyrus, it was funny. Besides she needs to look at more porn anyway," Rain said with a slightly high smile on her face.

"Rain, you're a seventeen year old girl, most people would find it creepy that you, not only look at porn, but draw and write it as well. Not everyone thinks like you do," Cyrus tried to reason with her.

"Cyrus, you might actually like porn if you got to see it," Alexandra stated, matter-of-fact-ly.

"Yeah, come on Cyrus, it was you yesterday who was talking about duck fucking," Greg said with a little shrug of his shoulders.

"Really guys, I come back to hear you guys talking about _duck fucking_ AGAIN. What is it with you guys and reproduction?" Eleanor said, finally rejoining the group.

"There's a reason why I never follow any links you guys send to me..." Cyrus muttered.

"So, did you put in a good word for me Ellie?" Avery asked, eagerly.

"Whoa, calm down there dear. I've known the guy for all of two weeks, and only seen him in person for three days of that time. Give me a chance to explain about my friends first."

"Aww..." Avery sighed.

"Oh, Ellie, your phone went off while you were gone," Alexandra said.

"Uh, thanks."

Eleanor reached into her bag and whipped out her phone. She checked the messages and, sure enough, one new message from an unlisted number.

_Huh, that's weird; I didn't know you could hide a person's phone number in a text. I knew about calls..._

She read the message.

_Alibi quick – N_

Eleanor had to remember the alibi Sherlock had told her.

_Hayley Dukeford, 19, married Lachlan Dukeford 18 months ago, beauty pageant winner, suspected slut, winner in Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne, California, London, likes public shows of affection – EW_

_Thanks – N_

There was only one person "N" could be. It had to be Neve, helping her keep her cover.

_Thank you Neve, I can't trust you completely, but sometimes...Maybe this is familial love, after all..._


	8. Chapter 8

Neve Moriarty was laying on her bed the luxurious penthouse apartment of the hotel she was staying in. She was flollopped on the bed, reading a well-worn copy of "Macbeth", again.

Seb and her dad were off doing business stuff and she was left at the hotel.

_Why do they keep doing this? They take me places and then don't let me _do_ anything. Dad knows I'm just as good at running the empire... web... business as he is, he's left me in charge many times. It almost makes a person want to follow the side of the angels..._

For the three days since she had that fight with Ellie, Neve hadn't been allowed anywhere. It was driving her nuts. Neve started saying the lines aloud;

"_Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed._

_Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined._

_Harpier cries. 'Tis time, 'tis time._

_Round about the cauldron go:_

_In the poisoned entrails throw._

_Toad, that under cold stone_

_Days and nights has thirty-one_

_Swelt'red venom sleeping got,_

_Boil thou first i' th' charmed pot._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and caldron bubble._

_Fillet of a fenny snake,_

_In the caldron boil and bake;_

_Eye of newt and toe of frog,_

_Wool of bat and tongue of dog,_

_Adder's fork and blindworm's sting,_

_Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,_

_For a charm of pow'rful trouble,_

_Like a hell-broth boil and bubble._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and caldron bubble._

_Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,_

_Witch's mummy, maw and gulf,_

_Of ravined salt-sea shark,_

_Root of hemlock digged i' th' dark,_

_Liver of blaspheming Jew,_

_Gall of goat, and sips of yew_

_Slivered in the moon's eclipse,_

_Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,_

_Finger of birth-strangled babe_

_Ditch-delivered by a drab,_

_Make a gruel thick and slab:_

_Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,_

_For th' ingredience of our caldron._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and caldron._

_Cool it with baboon's blood,_

_Then the charm is firm and good."_

The door opened and a man stepped through.

"That was beautiful, Neve. I'm so glad I found Shakespearean actors to teach you, and at such a low cost..."

"Dad, when did you get back?"

"I started to hear you at _'lizard's leg and howlet's wing'_. I remember 'Macbeth'; it was the first book that we read together. Do you remember when I took you with me to talk to that troupe of actors that wanted better reviews than their rivals?" Jim Moriarty chuckled, "you just loved running through the costume department and trying on whatever took your fancy. You haven't changed a bit..."

"Hey!"

Jim smiled, then walked forwards and sat down next to Neve on her bed.

"Look, Evee..."

"Dad, is there something wrong?"

"Why would you think there is anything wrong?"

"Because you haven't used that nickname on me since you last girlfriend died."

"Oh, right. I forgot. Anyway, no, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to know what happened back at the club. Who was that girl?"

"Look dad... She... She's just somebody that I used to know, okay?"

Jim looked down at his adopted daughter with scorn.

"It's not okay, Evee. I've known you for over six years, I have a right, no, I have the responsibility to know everything about you, as your father and as criminal mastermind. I don't know who she is, so you have to tell me. Now, who is she?"

Neve's phone went off with a stroke of perfect timing.

_I figure you needed an excuse – MH_

Neve quickly wrote a new message.

_Alibi quick – N_

She looked up at her dad and smiled, "important."

Her phone bleeped again.

_Hayley Dukeford, 19, married Lachlan Dukeford 18 months ago, beauty pageant winner, suspected slut, winner in Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne, California, London, likes public shows of affection – EW_

_Thanks – N_

Neve put her phone away and looked at her adopted dad.

"Look, dad, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to talk about this."

She stood up and started to walk away, but then Jim sprang up from the bed and blocked her path.

"Who. Is. She?"

Neve tried an old and well worn tactic; she began to cry.

Jim Moriarty stepped back in shock at this sudden outburst. Internally, he began to panic; he always did this when Neve did something unexpected. Externally, however, he remained neutral, gently putting an arm around Neve's shoulders in cautious semblance of comfort.

"It's okay Neve, you don't have to tell me yet. It can wait a little while," said Jim, trying not to let his panic escape through his voice.

"N-no... it-it's o-okay d-dad. I-I c-can t-tell," Neve said, stumbling through the words, her crocodile tears completing the look perfectly.

The pair went back and sat down on the edge of the bed, Jim cradled his arms around Neve extra-protectively, gently rocking her back and forth.

_Everything is going better than expected..._

She took two deep breaths and stemmed her faux tears.

"Her name is Hayley, Hayley Dukeford. She was this impertinent little bitch who always thought she was so great because her mum was a major fashion designer and critique, who could send her to get her teeth whitened at four years old and have her hair all teased, parading around in high-heels during beauty pageants. It disgusted me. She didn't look human; she was more like a big plastic doll. It scared the hell out of me. She's three years older than me, but she was still the biggest slut on the planet. She was entered in beauty pageants in all the capitals, but I reckon the only way she won was by sleeping with the judges.

"She likes to repulse many people by having really awkward public displays of affection. More than just pet names in a crowded street, she will practically have sex in the street. I did a bit of research on her not too long ago; apparently she got _married_ over a year ago. I'm surprised she can even hold down a husband, the little whore..."

Jim just looked out of the window with a steely gaze.

"Evee, daddy has to go do some work. Stay here and be a good little girl, shoot if you're unsure they are one of us, okay?"

"Yes daddy."

"Good girl," Jim said, looking down at her and smiling.

Jim walked out of the room while Neve went back to reading Macbeth.

* * *

Jim Moriarty was sitting behind a laptop and casually hacking into the Australian birth-deaths-and-marriages mainframe. He was looking for someone, someone special.

_Hayley Masterson Dukeford, 19, married Lachlan Dukeford June 23, 2011, unknown occupation, frequents beauty pageants, Adelaide, South Australia._

Jim Moriarty stared at the screen.

_I'm going to take care of this little bitch. No-one hurts my daughter..._


End file.
